


Dragoste

by ifwednesdaywasaflowerchild



Category: Captain America (Movies), Leverage
Genre: Gen, Love, Maternal Instinct, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-02-02 18:09:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12731643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifwednesdaywasaflowerchild/pseuds/ifwednesdaywasaflowerchild
Summary: Bucky, now with the Leverage crew, works with Eliot and Sophie to battle the demons of his past. But, there's one battle only Sophie can help him win - nightmares. Eliot hears a little too much of his own terror in Bucky's terrified screams to help and Sophie likes playing Mama.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Spasticgothchild](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spasticgothchild/gifts).



For all of Eliot Spencer’s talent, nightmares are a different ballgame. It can be incredibly hard to help somebody through something that you haven’t learned how to deal with yourself. So, when it comes to James Barnes, Eliot’s handed nightmare duty over to Sophie, who appears to have become something of a mother to the young man they’ve all dubbed Eliot 2.0. Of course, they know his history and how he’s far from young, but according to the falsified records that Hardison pulled from databases he wasn’t supposed to even know about, he’s a bit younger than Eliot claims to be.

Sophie seems to be able to handle the nightmares with a bit more finesse than Eliot, or anyone else, on the team. So, Bucky’s time is split between Eliot’s guest bedroom and Nate and Sophie’s guest room. After a case, he tends to want to be closer to Sophie, but on rare days off, he spends time with Eliot, learning how to grow and cook his own food, sparring away the demons in his head, and falling into a dreamless sleep, when the day pours him into bed, brain too exhausted to form the shadowed monsters that haunt him when he closes his eyes.

Tonight had been one of the rare nights at Eliot’s. After a rousing game of football that left his lungs burning from exertion in the cold Portland air, a dinner that was unconventional at best, and a hug from Sophie with the tender reassurance that she’s just a phone call away, Bucky had retired to the guest bedroom to sleep.

Eliot hears the scream from the kitchen.  

It’s after one in the morning, and he’s mid-slice on an onion for tomorrow’s pot roast, when it happens and he knows. If he goes in there, neither of them will come out of this unharmed. They’re both brutal when they’re on edge or vulnerable, and while Bucky’s the latter, Eliot is always the former.

He’s always on edge, always ready to fight if needed, and he won’t be able to help Bucky.  He drops the knife on the counter and bolts for the phone on the charger by the couch. Sophie is speed dial three on Bucky’s phone and it isn’t long before Eliot hears her familiar lilt; “James, are you alright, darling?”

“Sorry to wake you, Sophie, but it’s Eliot.” Eliot corrects her. “Bucky’s asleep and it sounds like he’s havin’ one hell of a nightmare.”

“I’ll be right there.”

Eliot hangs up the phone just as Bucky roars, again. It crashes through the house like thunder; loud and booming and frightening, especially from the outside. But, when you’re the one screaming, it’s a _frightened_ cry, not one meant to scare or intimidate. It’s loud because it makes you feel safe, like you have a way out of the world you’re trapped in. Eliot’s been where Bucky is and it is no more fun from the inside than it is from the outside. It is because of that, Eliot chooses to wait on the front porch for Sophie to pull up.

He hears a little too much of his own terror in Bucky’s scared screams.

…

Sophie is the picture of elegance, even in her pajamas and Nate’s jacket at one in the morning, with bed head and the scent of toothpaste fading. Eliot points her in the direction of the bedroom and mumbles about wanting to wait outside.

The guest room is dark, except for the lamp tossing weird shapes of orange light onto Bucky’s thrashing form; messy hair sticking to a clammy forehead, metal arm splintering Eliot’s headboard, and his entire body moving in protest of whatever is happening inside his head. His wails and whimpers roll around the room, bouncing off of walls and making the dark room seem that much darker.

“James,” Sophie’s patience is that of a saint when he’s like this. “James, it’s Sophie. Can you hear me, darling?”

A whimper, more thrashing.

Sophie makes a mental note to have a new bed sent to Eliot’s house. She knows Eliot is financially able to replace the bed, but she feels a certain responsibility. Nightmares are the one part of Bucky that she can help with and replacing what he trashes in the middle of them is part of that.

“James, I’m going to come closer.” Sophie gives fair warning of her movement. “I want you to be still, now, I’m here. That monster inside of your head, he is not. He is not even real, anymore, James. He is dead. You are alive.”

The tortured movements slow, and with a little more of her tender reassurances, stop completely but the noises continue; the nightmare not completely gone, even if it is just twisted shadows and imagination. She takes a cautious seat on the side of the bed and reaches for his hand. “Take my hand, darling.”

His hand curls around hers and the recognition is stunningly quick; he’s very tactile, needing physical reassurance that it is her, and that she is there, to come back to himself. Her voice can calm the physical manifestation but the mental part, the worst part, it takes her touch to chase it away. It isn’t long before his large frame is curling around hers like a child curls around his mother, his head finding her lap and his face nudging into her stomach, breathing in the scent of fabric softener and her expensive perfume.

“There we are,” her voice is a gentle, quiet coo, now. Like that of a mother calming her baby. “That’s it, love. You’re safe, now. It’s alright, Sophie’s here, darling.”

She combs her fingers through his hair, brushing the sweaty strands away from his face, and rubs the deep wrinkles from between his eyes. He’s sniffling, now, barely whimpering, and clutching her as if she is a security blanket; the one thing capable of making him feel safe in the absence of actual safety.

“‘M sorry, Soph.” he nuzzles closer, breathing her in, accepting her affection, craving it, even. “‘M sorry.”

“What on earth for?” Sophie wonders, disbelief coloring her tone. “I told you I am only a phone call away. Eliot heard you scream and he made that phone call. Nothing to be ashamed of.”

“But - “

“There is simply nothing about nightmares to be ashamed of. Not when you have lived it. It's okay to be frightened, darling. I'll always be here to remind you that you're safe.” she reminds him, scratching light circles on the back of his head. “You are human, James. As am I and Eliot.  You are not alone, James.” tears sting her eyes, at the thought of what could convince him that he was a waste of her time, as he thinks himself on nights like these. “Now, those awful people who did this to you, they might have told you that you are worth nothing and you deserve to be alone but you do not. You are worth more to me than anything I could steal, than any millionaire I could grift out of his money. And as long as I can help it, you will never be alone again. Do you understand me, James Buchanan?”

“Yes.” despite himself, Bucky smiles against her stomach.

With Eliot and the rest of the team, he feels safe, but in the way a brother feels safe with his siblings. In the way a younger brother is protected by the older siblings. But, with Sophie, it is a different sort of safe. It is a warm safety. The sort that comes only from a mother, and for someone with no children of her own, Sophie is capable of loving just as fiercely as any mother with biological children. She is tenderness and affection and the kind of love that he hasn’t felt in a long time. She is the light at the end of that long, dark, tunnel; the light with open arms and a gentle reassurance of how much he really is loved and cared for.

“Would you like to try to sleep, now?” Sophie asks him, fingers still rubbing his head. “The nightmare is gone and you need rest.”

Bucky just hums, eyes growing heavy, stinging with want of sleep, preferably without nightmares. Her fingers on his scalp are hypnotizing and it only takes a few more minutes of the calming touch to have him dozing off. Before he can get too comfortable, she helps him back into bed, and eases him back to sleep with her lilting voice and firm hand on his shoulders, rubbing the tension away. He’s almost asleep when Sophie just hears his quiet voice sigh something in Romanian.

“Te iubesc, mama.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

Eliot just can’t make himself go back inside, not with Bucky screaming like that. So, he waits. Curls his fingers around the porch railing, arches his body out, and breathes in hard puffs, watching it mushroom to the ground beneath him. If he can just wait this out, if he can just wait for Sophie to help Bucky, he can get back in the house, he can get back to what he was doing. He can stop reliving a past that is so painfully close to Bucky’s.

He can stop hearing his own tortured shriek.

The door creaks when it opens - he never greases the hinge, call it paranoia but if someone’s going to come through the door, he’d rather hear them than give them even a slight advantage - and Sophie appears by his side. “Bucky’s asleep, I think he should be good, now,  but I’d like to stay, if that’s alright.”

“Yeah, Sophie, you can, uh  - you can stay.” Eliot rasps; all nerves and gravel, because his nerves are shattering, like a bullet through a segmented window. One at a time.

He doesn’t tell her that if she doesn’t stay, he’ll be the one screaming, and then where would that leave him and Bucky? He doesn’t mention it, because he desperately wishes it weren’t true. Eliot wants so bad for the compulsion to cling to her when she comes around for Bucky to just go away. He doesn’t want to think of himself as weak, or in need of someone. Even though, he did. More than anyone would ever realize.

But, Sophie is observant.

She notices things - the unmade bed when she passed by his room, the fact that it’s well after midnight and he’s still fully dressed, the vegetables prepped on the counter, and the fact that he’d been unable to help Bucky. “How long, darling?” Sophie wonders gently.

“How long, what?” his refusal to look at her is almost an answer.

“How long have you been having nightmares?” it’s a hesitance - she doesn’t want to spook him, but her hand settles on his shoulder, and he appears to relax into the touch.

Eliot just laughs, shaking his head. God, how’d she guess? He didn’t think he’d given any clues that something was wrong with him too. He didn’t think it fair that she play therapist to both him and Bucky. He thought he could do it on his own. He didn’t know that Sophie would guess.

“About ten years, maybe longer.” a casual shrug, followed by a hoarse explanation. “I learned to live with it. I sleep a couple of hours to keep me going, that’s about it. If we’re in a new place, I don’t sleep at all and I’ve learned to live with that, too.”

“But, you shouldn’t have to, Eliot.” Sophie reprimands, but it’s all tenderness and that soft maternal affection she uses with Bucky. “You need rest.”

“How can I, Sophie?” he finally snaps, pushing off of the porch railing with more force than necessary - not because he’s angry, but because she has a funny way of finding his vulnerable spot and prodding it until he explodes. “How can I rest? Knowing the things I did and in the name of my government, my country! They wanted to make a martyr of me! I almost died because I had pride in what I was doing. I have bounties on my head and blood on my hands!”

“Eliot…”

“Everytime I look at him, every _damn_ time, I see myself.” Eliot growls, backing away. “I see the slave I was. I see the trigger I pulled because I was told I was reshaping my country, that I was helping the people the government claimed to love so much. Well, guess what? They hated them, Sophie! And, they hated me.”

“But, you’re still here, Eliot!” for all of his stubbornness, Eliot can’t quite match Sophie’s, and her argument will always win, because she’ll always point out what he should already see. “You’re still here and so is the team and if you need help, just say it. We’ll help you or we’ll get you whatever help you need. But, I won’t watch you kill yourself like this. I won’t watch you deprive yourself of something you deserve more than anyone.”

“I hate it, Sophie.” Eliot’s voice is ragged; a raspy shell of his usual deep voice. “I hate it so much. I hate the nightmares and the triggers and the flashbacks and I hate how much I wish you were here for me when you come here to help Bucky.”

Sophie prides herself on not shedding a tear off of a stage, but her eyes fill with tears. “I can be here for you.” she whispers, rushing toward him. The hitter is reduced to the likes of a toddler, with the way she scoops him up in a hug, and rubs his back. “I can be here for you. All you had to do was say you needed me, darling.”

“Sophie?” he mumbles into the soft fabric of her pajamas.

“Yes, darling?”

“I need you.”

Sophie’s arms tighten around him, and she coos in a voice that’s soft as silk. “I know, my love. I’m here, now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come! This turned out to be a longer project than I thought it would be.

**Author's Note:**

> He says, "Love you, Mama" at the end, and the title of the story translates (possibly roughly, I did use Google) to Love.


End file.
